


She's Not You

by annejumps



Series: All Shook Up [4]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - High School, Angsty Schmoop, M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 05:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning at breakfast, his mother asks him if he’s going to the Valentine’s Day dance. “You should ask Susan, dear,” she says, enthusiastic. “I know you’ve a little crush on her. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly."</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Not You

**Author's Note:**

> The fourth fic in this series, this one for Valentine's Day. Beta'd by [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/pseuds/anatsuno).

Eames feels like he’s been perpetually aroused all through winter.

Anything that so much as reminds him of Arthur distracts him. Seeing Arthur himself is what he longs for every moment of the day when he’s not around, but at school, the effect Arthur has on him is definitely embarrassing.

At home at night, regretfully alone in bed, Eames had quickly found himself in the only routine that would let him get much sleep: humping the pillow while thinking of Arthur, or thrusting into his fist while doing the same. It’s not as easy to get his fingers inside himself, and it feels like something he should reserve for Arthur; he can never satisfy himself properly that way. Instead, he finds himself thinking of pinning Arthur’s eager body down and thrusting into him, feeling him shudder, of giving Arthur everything Arthur gave him before.

They’ve gone all the way a few times since that first time, but not nearly often enough, and it’s always Arthur who’s inside him rather than the other way around; Eames loves it, and hasn’t yet found the words to suggest a turnabout. They rarely have the opportunity, anyway, and of course they’re aware that if anybody suspects anything, they could be found out and separated. That idea scares Eames badly enough that he won’t risk being caught in bed with Arthur.

They spend most of their time together in Arthur’s car, to the point where Eames feels a jolt of excitement at just catching a glimpse of it. Arthur kisses him, touches him, and as overwhelmed as he makes Eames feel, Eames does his best to respond in kind, feeling like he can never give enough, never get enough. He’s always wanting.

Eames’ mother knows he’s friends with Arthur; she’s commented on his distractedness, and his lack of appetite despite his apparent health, and she’s surely noticed that he’s started doing his own washing rather often, especially his sheets. But she doesn’t seem to suspect anything between him and Arthur at all. Rather, she seems to think he’s mooning over a girl down the street who’d come over a few times to study with him. Susan is a sweet girl, with pretty blonde hair, and according to Eames’ mother she’s taken with him. Of course, she would say that, but it seems to be true enough. Eames feels a bit bad about it.

In the dull chill of January, the days drag on; Eames wishes he could be warmed by Arthur in his bed every night. This is, of course, sadly impossible.

One morning at breakfast, his mother asks him if he’s going to the Valentine’s Day dance. “You should ask Susan, dear,” she says, enthusiastic. “I know you’ve a little crush on her. I know you haven’t been eating or sleeping properly.” She pats his arm and clucks, concerned and fond.

Eames finds himself acutely wishing for a confidant, someone he could finally unburden himself to, someone who would understand how completely in love he is with Arthur. He feels suddenly lonely, an odd feeling when he’s always been so close to his mother.

Susan happens to be over that afternoon for a study session. Eames’ mother brings them some cookies, and smiling, nudges him. “Isn’t there something you’d like to ask Susan, dear?”

Stomach sinking, Eames swallows and glances at Susan, who looks hopeful, blushing. Feeling terrible, Eames manages a smile and says, “Er, yes. Susan, would you like to... er, I’d be honored if you’d go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me.”

Susan, of course, accepts. His mother and Susan are happy enough with this that they don’t seem to notice how quiet he’s become.

After his mother goes to bed, Eames sneaks out of his room and walks over to Arthur’s house. He throws a pebble at his window, their agreed-upon signal. Arthur’s room is dark, but in a few moments he’s opening the window to look down at Eames.

“What’s up?” Arthur asks groggily, looking rumpled from sleep, and lovely.

“Arthur, I’m sorry,” Eames whispers loudly, “but I had to--”

“Dad’s not home yet and my sister’s asleep,” Arthur says in a low voice, gesturing to the back door. Without another word, Eames hurries to it, and when Arthur opens it, he steps just inside and kisses him, desperate, thankful that it’s dark and they’re hidden here.

Arthur groans softly, pressing him back against the wall, and Eames is hard just like that, painfully so, grinding into him, craving friction. “Oh, please, please, please,” he realizes he’s whispering aloud. He can feel Arthur smiling against his mouth. “All right,” Arthur whispers back, and then he’s sinking to his knees and opening Eames’ flies, and then taking him in his mouth.

By now, they each know what the other likes, and Arthur plays him like a fiddle, with an eye on making him come hard and fast, and Eames does, desperately stuffing his knuckles into his mouth to stifle himself.

Weak-kneed, he sinks to the floor to join Arthur, hand going for his cock, but Arthur stops him. “Not enough time, too messy. What’s going on, you didn’t just come over for me to blow you, did you?” There’s a grin in Arthur’s whisper.

Eames has to take a moment to remember why he’s here. “Oh, yes. Er, no. Arthur, I’m sorry but I had to ask Susan to the Valentine’s Day dance. My mum was there and she made me do it, I don’t want her, Arthur, I only want you.” He speaks in a quiet, hoarse rush.

Arthur kisses him briefly, sweetly. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Eames sags against him in relief. “Are you sure?”

Arthur shrugs. “Hey, you do what you have to do, right? Don’t want anyone to suspect us.”

“Yeah,” Eames sighs. They’re quiet for a bit, both of them wanting to stay close until Eames will have to leave, not wanting to get caught by Arthur’s father or sister. “I wish we could go together,” Eames says softly.

Arthur kisses his cheek. “I know. Me too. Hey, come over here when the dance is over.”

“Okay,” Eames says after a moment, nodding. Arthur gets to his feet, pulling Eames up: time for him to go. “That’s a good idea,” he adds.

“Yeah.” Arthur gives him another kiss. “Hey,” he says, smiling, “you can kiss her, maybe cop a feel, but nothing more than that.” There’s a teasing tone to his voice, but he drops it, and sends shivers down Eames’ spine when he adds, “You’re mine, you know.”

“Yeah,” Eames whispers, mouth dry. Arthur doesn’t literally mean that, of course, but there’s a stirring in Eames just the same. “You sure I can’t--” He skims his fingers down Arthur’s front, but Arthur catches his hand.

“No, go. I’ll see you later,” Arthur murmurs, before kissing his cheek and opening the door.

“Dream of me,” Eames says as he leaves.

Susan’s wearing a pink skirt and a red silk blouse, her blonde curls looking perfect. She’s blushing, smiling, and as Eames pins a rose to her lapel, he silently hopes she’ll never suspect this is all a charade, and if she ever does, that she’ll forgive him for it.

The gym is decorated in an inordinate amount of red and pink for the dance. Eames does everything he knows he’s supposed to do: take Susan’s arm when they’re not dancing, get her punch when she’s thirsty, let her dance with another boy or a girlfriend when someone requests a cut. He dances with other girls when she’s occupied. He kisses her cheek. He holds her close, but respectfully, when the songs are slow. Eames is a good dancer, Susan is charming, and it would have been fun if his heart didn’t belong so completely to Arthur.

What would it be like if Arthur were here with him, instead of Susan? Arthur’s hand at the small of his back, Arthur pressed against him, Arthur drinking punch and smiling at him through his lashes, less sweet, more knowing. Promising.

Arthur among his friends, all of them smiling at the two of them, knowing what they were to each other and approving. No need to hide.

But it’s folly to think about all that. Arthur isn’t here, and he and Arthur are each other’s secrets.

Eames’ mother let him take her car to pick up Susan and to take her home. He met her parents with impeccable manners, promised he’d get her home on time, no, earlier. Susan is reluctant to leave, but Eames playfully reminds her of his promise, secretly just wanting to get away from them all, to go and be with Arthur.

Susan has Eames pull over on a darker stretch of road halfway to her house; she moves over to kiss him, gets in his lap, guides his hand up her thigh. She smells like roses and tastes like peppermint candy, and her skin is soft and warm. Not too long ago, pre-Arthur Eames would have done whatever Susan would have let him, and happily. Now, though, his heart’s not in it. But of course, he doesn’t want her to feel bad, doesn’t want her to suspect that he wishes he’d gone with someone else.

So he kisses her back, but takes the focus off the hand on her thigh by moving his other hand to cup her breast. That seems safer, somehow. A gentle squeeze to the softness, and Susan sighs into his mouth, pleased.

They go on like that, for a while. Surprisingly aggressive kisses from Susan, gentlemanly gropings from Eames. But he feels more and more uncomfortable with the situation, feeling as though he’s cheating on Arthur. Susan shifts back to untuck her blouse, and again, past Eames would have silently cheered this development. Now, he has to gently refuse her while avoiding making her feel like she’s thrown herself at him and embarrassed herself.

His hand goes to hers to gently stop her untucking, and he murmurs, smile in his voice, “I’d better stop now before I get carried away. It’s late, I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Susan pouts, but then smiles, says something about next time as she removes herself from his lap and straightens her clothes. He doesn’t make a reply.

At her house, he opens Susan’s car door, walks her to her front porch, knowing he’s being watched by parents within. He chastely kisses her cheek, smiling politely as he takes his leave.

Eames drives home, parks his mother’s car in the garage, tells her he’s going to bed after placating her with assurances that he and Susan had a nice time. Once she’s in bed, he walks to Arthur’s house.

Arthur didn’t go to the dance, not solely because he couldn’t go with Eames, but because the idea of Arthur at a school dance was fairly absurd, or so it seemed to Eames, despite his wishful imaginings.

He’s waiting for Eames at his back door, one foot propped on the wall, serene in the moonlight. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs, amused, as Eames approaches. Eames kisses him, wondering too late if Arthur can taste Susan on his lips.

Arthur draws back and looks at him. “Peppermint,” he says, eyebrows raised, and Eames’ heart sinks.

“Arthur--”

“It’s fine, I remember what I said.” Arthur curls his fingers in Eames’ shirt. “But... I’ve got to get that taste out of your mouth.” Eames nods, and Arthur kisses him, thoroughly, determined.

Eames realizes he’s pressing Arthur against the wall; Arthur draws back slightly to whisper “Let’s go inside.”

Arthur’s sister is at a friend’s for the night, and his father isn’t home yet. The house is silent and dark. In Arthur’s room, they get out of their clothes quickly, shivering in the chill that seeps through the walls, but warm up again quickly. Arthur kisses him and touches him all over, reclaiming him. Arthur’s kept on the chain around his neck that carries Eames’ class ring.

Arthur has him on his back in his bed and is kissing down his chest when Eames says it. “Arthur,” he murmurs, “I think we should try it the other way ‘round from how we’ve been doing.”

Arthur raises his head, looking flushed and mildly confused. “Huh?”

“How about I do it to you instead,” Eames clarifies, blushing.

Arthur nods slowly in understanding, eyebrows raising. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” His ears are turning red. He clears his throat. “Let me get you off first,” he says. “Otherwise you won’t last.”

Eames doesn’t argue. Arthur sucks him off, and the tension he’d felt all day ebbs from him.

“Are you nervous?” Arthur asks, stretching out beside him, voice a soft rasp in the dark.

“Dunno. Maybe a bit.” Eames shrugs. “Are you?”

Arthur shrugs. “Not really. It’s... been a long time,” he says, voice gone quieter, and Eames doesn’t press the matter. Arthur doesn’t talk that much about his experience before Eames.

They kiss some more, and Eames gets hard again. “How do you want me?” Arthur murmurs against his lips.

Eames thinks about the time Arthur first did this to him. “On your back,” he says. “I’d like to see you.” He’s had so many thoughts of what Arthur might look like, and he doesn’t want to miss a moment of his face.

Arthur has proper lubricant here in his room, and he gets up to turn on the light and rummage through his toolbox for it. Eames sits up to watch him, and takes the tube when it’s handed over. He slicks up his fingers as Arthur gets on his back.

Arthur looks at him with heavy-lidded eyes, skin golden from the glow of the lamp. He nods at Eames and bites his lip, and Eames carefully, gently starts to work his fingers into him.

From then on, he’s fascinated by Arthur’s responses. A miniscule shift here, a quiet swift inhale there. Arthur’s skin is flushing pink. He’s hard, cock resting on his abdomen. There’s nothing Eames enjoys more these days than making his cool, slick Arthur start to lose control.

“All right, c’mon,” Arthur says after some minutes of this, pulling his knees up higher, and Eames’ heart gives an alarmed thump.

“Are you sure?” Eames asks, fumbling to find the tube again, to apply more to his cock.

“Please.” Arthur swallows. Usually poised, he’s shifting, restless, hands twisted in the sheets.

Slicked up, Eames positions himself, almost shaking with nerves. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he begins, but Arthur just chuckles, breathless.

“You won’t hurt me, Eames. C’mon.”

Eames nods, closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath, and starts to sink in. He goes slowly, achingly slowly, breath held as he watches Arthur’s face. Arthur’s eyes are closed, his lips parted. He furrows his brow, sucking in a breath.

“Look at me,” Eames whispers. He doesn’t need to whisper, the house is empty, but he can’t bring himself to do otherwise.

Arthur does, blinking. He moves one hand to touch Eames’ cheek, his other arm going around Eames’ back, tightening his legs around Eames, pulling him in deeper. His jaw clenches for a moment, but then his face is relaxed, if flushed, something wild in his eyes. Eames is as deep as he can be, and he wants to move, but he holds still.

“How do you feel,” he whispers, and Arthur replies “Full.”

“Can I--” he starts, and Arthur nods.

“Kiss me.”

Eames tilts his hips and leans in to kiss Arthur, who clutches at him as he starts to move. Arthur makes a soft sound in his throat, clearly one he didn’t intend to allow to escape; it’s almost a whimper, and Eames pauses, with great effort.

“Are you--” He feels Arthur’s fingers spread out over his back, his other hand moving to wrap his arm around him as well. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Eames whispers again, and licks his lips, mouth gone dry.

“You’re not,” Arthur whispers back, voice slightly strained, but why, Eames is not exactly sure. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Arthur.... “I just,” Arthur clears his throat. “This is new. Someone doing this.”

“Someone fucking you?” Eames’ brow creases in confusion.

“Someone caring if it hurt me,” Arthur corrects, with a small, bitter-sounding laugh.

Arthur’s lips are stretched in a grim expression and Eames can’t stand it. He kisses him, fiercely gentle, eyes burning. He starts to move again, slow, steady. Arthur’s hands smooth over his skin, increasingly restless, and with that and the way Arthur bites at his lips, Eames knows he can give him more, and does. He wants to give him everything.

Arthur arches and rocks beneath him; he feels so good, and everything he does is perfect. Eames is dizzy with need for him, greedy, pressing his weight onto him and wanting to get all the contact he can, unable to get enough.

He feels Arthur working a hand between them, and feels him writhe, tightening, gasping as he starts to stroke himself. Arthur comes with his breath hot against Eames’ neck, and Eames tumbles helplessly after him.

He doesn’t want to ever move from where he is. Let them find him like this, Arthur caged under his body, Arthur protected.

But no, he can’t stay here. There is no place where they belong permanently together.

He buries his face in Arthur’s neck for the time being, though, as it doesn’t seem Arthur’s too keen on moving just yet either.

They’re shivering soon enough. Arthur doesn’t say a word as Eames reluctantly extricates himself, feeling small and cold as he does. He puts on his underwear and walks to the bathroom as quietly as possible, alone, the floor cold under his bare feet, to clean up.

When he returns, Arthur’s in his boxers, a rag cast to the nightstand. Neither of them speak as they get under the covers. Eames is exhausted, but he can’t stay until dawn, can’t even relax properly for fear he’ll fall asleep. They can’t be discovered.

Eames wraps Arthur in his arms, tight, until his shivering subsides.

He strokes Arthur’s smooth skin with a thumb, catches Arthur’s chain with it, finds his class ring. Someone had been where he’d been and hurt his Arthur.

“I want to kill him,” Eames whispers against the skin of Arthur’s shoulder, so quiet he’s surprised he said it out loud.

There’s a long pause. Maybe he didn’t say it out loud.

“Who?” Arthur murmurs, voice hoarse.

“Whoever hurt you.”

Arthur chuckles without humor. “I don’t know where he is. It’s been three years.”

Eames closes his eyes tightly. Unable to help it, he imagines a fifteen-year-old Arthur, thinner, young and wide-eyed, before he’d perfected his poker face. Maybe before he started smoking, before his leather jacket disguised how vulnerable his narrow shoulders could seem.

Arthur seems to weigh Eames’ silence before quietly adding, “It wasn’t as bad as you think. He just didn’t care if it hurt or if it felt good or about anything I wanted, really.”

Eames laughs darkly. “That doesn’t exactly make me feel like not killing him.”

“He’s not worth killing.” Arthur turns in Eames’ arms to cup his jaw. He slings a leg over Eames’. “I guess I was asking for--”

“No,” Eames interrupts. “No. You deserve only the best, Arthur.” He’s shaking a little, he realizes.

“If you say so.” Arthur smiles, a little sadly, and kisses him, a gentle, lingering touch of lips. “You’ll have to go soon,” he sighs, face falling.

“I know.” They don’t move.

It’s only the thought of his mother panicking or Arthur’s father finding them that gets Eames out of bed and dressed. Arthur sits up to watch him.

His jacket on, Eames bends down, cups Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses him. “I love you,” he says, watching Arthur’s face, and when Arthur starts to speak, Eames rushes. “You have to know that, Arthur, I love you.”

Arthur’s hands find his wrists, and he stands upright, wrapping his arms around Eames, so tight it’s almost difficult to breathe. Eames just holds him, saying nothing about the way Arthur keeps swallowing, or how he sniffs once or twice.

Although he doesn’t want to at all, Eames starts to pull back, but Arthur stops him from moving too much further. He rests his cheek against Eames’, lashes fluttering. “I love you too, Eames,” he whispers, like a secret.

Eames wants to freeze them right where they are; the thought of leaving Arthur now is agony. But he must.

“I’m going,” he says, and Arthur releases him, with a nod. His eyes are bright, fond.

“Sweet dreams,” Arthur says.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Elvis' [She's Not You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHjiueVFF7Y). Thanks to [anatsuno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anatsuno/), [Amy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asunder), Julia, and Liz for all your help!


End file.
